


all my senses come to life

by deadpools (midnights)



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, Angst, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Gay, Hunters & Hunting, Hurt Stiles, Hurt/Comfort, Injury, Injury Recovery, Interrogation, M/M, Recovery, Stiles is Alpha Bait, Violence, Werewolf Hunters
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-07-02
Updated: 2014-07-02
Packaged: 2018-02-07 02:52:53
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,585
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1882347
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/midnights/pseuds/deadpools
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>It has just now occurred to Stiles that deciding to come see what was going on between Derek's pack and some hunters from a town nearby and their territorial "disagreement" may not have been the best way to spend his Friday night.</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	all my senses come to life

**Author's Note:**

> just to clarify, all events in this story occur between the events of seasons 2 and 3a. this is my first work for this fandom, so go easy on me! also, if you liked it, come cry about sterek with me on [tumblr](http://ravenclawmalik.tumblr.com/) .
> 
> title is from Ed Sheeran's 'One'. 
> 
> *warnings for minor graphic depictions of violence

It has just now occurred to Stiles that deciding to come see what was going on between Derek's pack and some hunters from a town nearby and their territorial "disagreement" may not have been the best way to spend his Friday night.

Because of his idiotic actions, Stiles now has a huge gash from one of the hunters' arrows deep in his left side, and a warm liquid soaking through his hoodie, which, if he remembers right, because things are getting very fuzzy, is Scott's. He remembers another member of the group chucking a knife at him, too. There's a pain in his side worse than the time he broke his arm in three different places, and there are spots starting to cloud his vision.

It especially sucks because Stiles doesn't want to die like this. Just this once, he wanted to be the hero. Derek and Scott and everyone else are always trying to protect him, like he's absolutely made of glass. It also sucks because he wasn't even the one that was supposed to get hurt. At least, according to the hunter. When he got there, the hunter lunged at Derek, and Stiles' first thought was to jump in the way.

And now there are wet leaves plastered to the back of his neck, and mud splattered all down his front, and, _oh_ \- blood is seeping through his clothes. Slowly, Stiles presses his hand to his side and finds that the entire spot is sticky and warm and wet. And it hurts. Just simply moving his left arm sends shockwaves of pain through his whole body. He hears Scott and Derek call his name, and then everything goes dark.

∆

"Oh, Christ, Stiles, don't fucking die on me," Scott all but whimpers.

Derek watches as Scott fends off the last member of the pack, who runs away with her other hunters, and then he rushes to Stiles' side. Derek looks at Stiles, passed out in the dirt. There's a blade buried deep in his side, and blood is quickly soaking through his sweatshirt. After checking that any other hunters didn't linger, Derek kneels beside Stiles and presses a hand on the area around the knife.

"Hold him down, he might wake up." Derek says.

Scott snaps back into reality and pushes Stiles' shoulders down gently. Derek gets a good grip on the blade in his side, pushes down hard just below it, and pulls. The blade slides out with a sound that once would've made the hair on Derek's neck stand. Scott releases Stiles, and Derek pulls his sweatshirt off. He presses it against Stiles' side, and ignores the way his nose wrinkles unconscious at the pain. A single drop of blood slips out of Stiles' mouth and slips down his cheek. Derek wipes it away with his sleeve.

"What're you doing?" Scott asks quickly, searching through Stiles' pockets for the keys to his Jeep.

"He's bleeding too much, if we don't leave now he'll be dead before we even come close to getting him to the hospital." Derek explains. "Open the car."

Scott hurries to unlock Stiles' car and start it. Derek scoops Stiles off the ground, and holds him close to his chest as he climbs into the car. "Oh my god," Scott breathes. He pulls out of Stiles' makeshift parking spot and floors it, and Derek presses the sweatshirt more firmly to Stiles' side. "What the hell am I gonna tell his dad, holy crap, he got _stabbed_ -"

"We are going to tell him," Derek rolls his eyes and keeps his eyes trained on Stiles, who's lying in his lap. "that you and him were screwing around in the kitchen - probably drunk - and that he fell and stabbed himself. Or some other, better lie. Got it?"

"Stiles' dad is a _cop_." Scott says incredulously.

"Any other suggestions?" Derek snaps.

Scott nods slowly as he pulls onto the road. "Absolutely not."

Derek can feel Stiles' blood starting to soak through his own pants, hear his ragged breathing, feel his heartbeat quickening underneath him. He pushes down harder on the sweatshirt, and Stiles' breathing quickens. Scott hears Stiles and speeds up, making the tires scream as he turns. They spent the rest of the drive in silence, the only disturbances being Stiles' rapid heartbeat and ragged breathing. Scott pulls into the hospital and parks near the emergency entrance.

"Are you coming in?" Scott asks quickly.

Derek shakes his head, shoving the car door open. "You can carry him."

"Right." Scott climbs out and rounds the car.

Derek stands, and Scott scoops Derek out of his arms. "I'll take his car back."

Scott runs off, and Derek climbs back into Stiles' car. He listens for each sound; the doors sliding open, Scott's panicked yell, the gurney being brought over. Derek hears a nurse ask what happened, and Scott flawlessly spins a story about Stiles' accident. Derek waits until he hears the sound of the stitches being sewn into Stiles' side before he starts the Jeep to bring it back to the Stilinskis' house. Once he's parked it somewhere safe, Derek makes his way to his loft and takes the Camaro back to the hospital.

When he gets there, Scott isn't in Stiles' room, but Derek can hear him talking to his mother at the reception office. They're talking about Isaac. Derek rolls his eyes and follows the scent of Stiles' blood to his room and sneaks inside. The smell of his blood is deafening (that is, if smells could be deafening). He wonders if Stiles is out cold from blood loss, morphine, or if he's even asleep at all. Derek can hear that his heartbeat's actually too slow for him to be awake, he can rule that option out. Derek leans against the wall by the window and sighs.

People always try to pretend that blood smells like rust and salt. It doesn't. Blood smells like blood, and whoever's blood it is. Now, all Derek can smell is Stiles and some godawful thing from the cafeteria. And everything else. But mostly Stiles. Stiles always smells just like that scent before it rains, and coffee, and a little too much cologne. Good. A good smell.

∆

When Stiles wakes up, there's a pain in his side so intense he feels like he's going to pass out. Again. Everything else hurts, too. He groans, and presses a hand to his side. Bad idea. It's a very very bad idea. Waves of nausea cascade through his body, and he wants to throw up, but doesn't. He can hear his heartbeat pounding in his ears, he can feel his side throbbing. Whatever the hell possesses him to attempt to sit up must be trying to get him killed, because the second he moves, black spots begin to dance through his vision, and pain rolls through him like a tidal wave. Breathing deeply, Stiles tries not to throw up. He sits back, and notices the horrible taste in his mouth. Everything's shit. Everything's gone to complete and utter shit, and Stiles can't do a damn thing from a hospital bed.

"You probably shouldn't squirm around so much."

StIles jumps so hard he might have ripped a stitch.

"Holy - God, Derek, don't fucking do that," Stiles breathes. "Ow, ow, _ow_!" He puts a hand around his middle. "This feels very not good." 

Derek materializes from the darkness in the corner of Stiles' hospital room. There's blood all over his T-shirt, and Stiles has a sickening feeling that it's his own. Shit. He probably got blood all over the seats in his Jeep. Oh, God. This is going to _kill_ his dad. And then his dad is going to kill _him_ , for getting stabbed. By a hunter. He feels a bit fuzzy, like everything is going slower than usual. He blinks at Derek a few times, and things begin to clear up. It's dark in his hospital room, though. Derek stands a few feet from him, eyeing him up and down. Stiles' head is pounding; it feels like somebody's been beating him around like a ragdoll. He coughs, groaning at the way it stretches his side.

Scott. Where's Scott? Stiles looks around. It's just Derek in there with him. When Stiles gets out of here, he's going to kill Scott. He’s hardly around anymore, always out doing something with Isaac.

"Waiting as the morphine wears off is fun, isn't it, wonderboy?" Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles rolls his eyes at him. Even that seems to hurt. "If I wasn't in excruciating pain right now, I'd come up with some witty and hilarious response, but. Y'know." Stiles gestures to his side, and notices that he's not wearing a shirt. There's a bandage wrapped around his side, looped once around his shoulder. He feels a little weird shirtless in front of Derek, even if he's seen Derek shirtless a million times. Derek's never been stabbed in the side and clipped by an arrow at the same time, though. At least, Stiles thinks he hasn't. He's never very sure about anything that relates to Derek.

"I can tell you're feeling better than before, though. Just not, like, good." Derek says.

"Apparently exposing your ribs to angry hunters isn't a very good idea."

"Neither is showing up to a brutal territorial conflict between angry werewolves and hunters."

Stiles considers this for a minute, cocking his head. That's a bad idea too. "Fuck - everything hurts, oh God." He groans.

"You're on such a high dose of morphine I'm surprised you're not high." Derek raises an eyebrow at him. "You've been out for, like, four hours."

"Where's my dad?" Stiles grimaces as he sucks in a breath.

"He came by a little while ago, then got called in for some 'disturbances' in the woods." Derek shifts his weight to his other foot, and Stiles is surprised at how human the simple movement is. "Disturbances being - well, mainly your screams. Of pain."

"And Scott?" Stiles asks.

Derek shakes his head slowly. "He left around an hour ago."

Stiles frowns. "Before my dad got here?" He asks, and Derek nods. "And you had to explain?"

"Mhm." Derek nods again. "I think your dad kinda hates me now."

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "He's hated you for a while."

"Like father like son, huh?" Derek folds his arms over his chest.

Stiles cocks his head. "I do hate you, yes, but, like. You kinda saved my life."

"You're welcome." Derek rolls his eyes. "Scott said he got a call from Lydia, and that she needed him to tell him what happened."

"And you stayed? Derek Hale? Are you feeling okay?"

Derek narrows his eyes at him, but Stiles swears he can see the corners of his lips quirk up in the moonlight. "Ha ha. I'm peachy, thanks. Judging by your God awful -"

Derek breaks off as Stiles starts coughing. The pain in his side intensifies, like he's being crushed from the inside. Stiles can feel the bile rising in his throat, he's sure he's gonna get sick.  "Bucket," He coughs, eyes watering. "Get me a - bucket."

Derek appears at his bedside almost immediately with a kidney shaped bowl and hands it to Stiles. Whatever Stiles ate before going out last night is extracated from his stomach in painful, heaving, retching. The muscles in his stomach keep clenching as he vomits, and the pain is so extreme it makes him black out again. The last thing he sees is Derek putting an arm around him to catch him before he flops onto the pillow.

∆

The next time he wakes up, there's sunlight streaming through the shutters, and a steady weight on his leg, and - oh. Everything still hurts. So much. He looks down slowly, and sees his dad asleep, slumped over with his head rested on his arms. He's still got his uniform on, a gun's still strapped to his belt. Stiles feels bad - his dad shouldn't have to wait here while he gets better. What's worse is that his dad is probably worried sick. Oh, God - Stiles' dad specifically told him not to go anywhere last night, or maybe it wasn't last night. How long has he been out?

Gently, Stiles shifts his leg so his dad will wake up. With a groan, his dad sits up and cracks his neck. A year or so ago, the sound of his bones popping would've made Stiles flinch. Now, a grin splits his cheeks as he sees the relief on his dad's face to see his son alright.

"Christ, Stiles." His dad breathes. "You're awake."

Stiles gives him a small smile. "Hey, Dad."

Slowly, his dad stands and wraps his arms around Stiles, pulling him into a gentle but firm hug. Stiles rests his head on his shoulder, sighing. "How d'you feel?"

"Complete shiiiii- crap." Stiles shifts a bit when his dad releases him from the hug, and grimaces.

"You okay?" His father asks quickly. Stiles nods. "One more question."

"Go ahead."

"Are you in some kind of relationship with Derek Hale?"

Stiles blinks a few times. Maybe the morphine is making him hear things. Does morphine even do that? He's not sure. His dad can't actually be asking him about this. "Derek? You think I'm - you think I'm with _Derek_?"

"Answer the question, son."

"Dad - I think I've had around two conversations with Derek Hale." Stiles' eyebrows furrow. "Once when we found his sister, and - and right after in your cruiser."

"Oh yeah? He's been here the whole time, you've been out five days. He only went home to change. Tell me, Stiles, what a convicted felon is doing waiting for a kid to wake up?" His dad snaps.

"He's - First of all, I'm not a kid, Dad. And you know he's innocent!" Stiles groans. "We're not even friends."

"Stiles. If you're lying to me -"

"Jesus, Dad, I'm not with Derek!" Stiles coughs, and pain shoots through his torso like he's been stabbed all over again.

"Don't - Stiles, don't open the stitches-" His dad's hand shoots out to grab his shoulder.

The coughing subsides, but his breath comes in short, heaving bursts, like not enough air can get into his lungs. After a few seconds, it stops, and he can breathe again. His eyes flick back up to his dad, who's calling for a nurse. Seconds later, a woman in mint green scrubs rushes in, but Stiles is alright now, laying back on the pillows and panting. The pain fades away (though much more slowly that Stiles would like).

"I'm - I'm okay." Stiles breathes. The nurse checks his vitals, then injects what Stiles figures must be pain medicine into his arm.

"Okay?" She asks, her hand lingering on his shoulder.

"Yeah, I'm good." He nods.

"No moving around, okay?" The nurse smiles at Stiles before heading back into the corridor.

Stiles' dad lets out a heaving sigh. "Don't scare me like that, kid."

"S - sorry, Dad." Stiles breathes.

His dad glances at the clock by the wall. "Shit, it's almost two. I have to go, I'm on call." He looks apologetically at Stiles. "Will you be alright here?"

"It's fine, Dad. Go to work." Stiles gives him a small smile.

Stiles gets a Dad-frown in return. "I get off at nine, I'll see you then, okay?"

"See ya, Dad." Stiles waves him off.

"Don't open those stitches." He lingers at the door.

"Okay, Dad." Stiles rolls his eyes.

"Stiles, I'm serious." His dad says sternly.

"So am I."

"Don't. Open. Your stitches."

"Dad! I get it."

His dad starts to leave, then he sees something and frowns so deeply that Stiles can already tell what it is. "Good. Mr. Hale can stay with you. Perfect."

Stiles rolls his eyes. Why is Derek still here? It's not his fault that Stiles decided to get in the middle of his little argument. The sheriff stalks out, and Derek comes in a minute later with his usual scowl on his face. He glares at Stiles.

"Nice to see you, too." Stiles gives Derek a little wave.

Derek rolls his eyes at Stiles. "You're definitely getting better."

"Oh, I feel great. Yeah, I just coughed my way into some blood loss, there's a crazy group of hunters on the loose, there's a pain in my side like a vice, and - oh, yeah. My dad thinks we're together." Stiles says.

Derek blinks a few times. "Like," He gestures between him and Stiles. " _Together_ together?" Stiles nods slowly. "Oh my God."

"That's kinda what I said, too." Stiles drags his fingers through his hair. It's all messy and bed-headed.

"Why exactly does he think we're -" Derek raises his eyebrows.

"Well, you have been here for five days." Stiles says.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Because you're my responsibility. It's technically my fault th -"

"That I decided to come see what you and Scott and everyone else was doing? I mean, your warnings have never stopped me before." Stiles points out.

"Because you never listen." Derek shoves his hands in the pockets of his jacket.

"I personally prefer to do the talking, so I generally don't care what others are saying."

Derek raises an eyebrow. "Sorry, were you saying something?"

Stiles glares at him. "Ha ha. Oh, Derek. You're hilarious." He deadpans.

"Shut up." Derek gives him a look.

"Not scared of youuuu," Stiles sings.

Derek lunges for Stiles. Stiles doesn't flinch (1, because it would hurt, and 2, because he knows Derek wouldn't hurt him). He smirks at Derek.

"See? Not afraid."

Derek narrows his eyes at him. "You should be."

"See, I was afraid of you, back when I didn't know about all that other shit that's around this town. Now, you're just another werewolf." Stiles shrugs. "Who happens to be an Alpha."

"I'm not having this argument." Derek folds his arms over his chest.

"Go home, Derek. Have Scott come." Stiles sighs.

"First of all, I told you why I'm staying, and second, Scott's looking for the rest of the hunters. They backed off after he punched the leader in the face for hurting you." Derek explains.

"Well then sit down. Your standing's making me nauseous." Stiles flops back on his pillows, groaning from the movement.

With a glare, Derek sits in the chair and rests his feet on Stiles' hospital bed. "I heard you coughing earlier."

"Congratulations." Stiles heaves a sigh.

"I also heard McCall's mom say you can go home tomorrow." Derek says.

"Did she say anything about upping my morphine dose?" Stiles asks, grimacing as he presses a hand to his side. Everything hurts.

"Does it hurt?" Derek raises an eyebrow.

Stiles looks pointedly at him. "No Derek, it feels awesome. Stabbed and clawed within three seconds feels great."

Derek rolls his eyes and tilts his head back. If Stiles didn't know better he'd think he was sleeping. After a while, though, Stiles gets sick of watching Derek's chest rise and fall with each breath, and he falls asleep.

∆

"Stiles, get in the chair."

"Dad, I'm not going out there without at least boxers under this thing." Stiles gestures to his hospital gown, and his dad groans.

"Stiles, I've got work in two hours, and I'm sure it's already going to take long enough for me to get you into the shower." His father's voice lowers to barely a whisper. "And Derek Hale is not helping you shower."

Stiles groans, because he knows Derek is listening to every word. "I don't _want_ him to! I just want _pants_."

"Fine, fine. We'll get you some underwear and then we can go home." His dad scuttles off, and Derek wanders in.

Stiles' eyes widen. "It wasn't my idea."

"Well, yeah, I heard you. I know." Derek rolls his eyes and leans against the doorframe. He's got that stupid leather jacket on, and a maroon Henley. So Stiles' dad was right. Derek had gone home to change.

"Are you coming to my place?" Stiles raises his eyebrows.

"Scott said there's been two from the group of hunters stalking around near your house, so, yeah." Derek blinks a few times. "Like I said, you're my responsibility."

"Like I said, you can go home, Derek." Stiles rolls his eyes.

Derek cocks his head. "Your dad's coming."

He ducks out of Stiles' room, and Stiles sits on the edge of his bed. The Sheriff comes in a minute later with a pair of boxers and a pair of Adidas slides. He tosses them into Stiles' lap, sighing. Stiles gives him an apologetic smile and stands, pulling on the boxers. He ignores that he doesn't know where they're from, and avoids flinching as he pulls them up. Tossing the slides on the floor, Stiles slips his feet into them and stands shakily. Everything's still sore, but he doesn't feel like he's going to puke. Pretty depressing improvement, Stiles thinks. Especially considering he can't even go to the bathroom by himself.

His dad helps him into a wheelchair (which is completely demeaning, Stiles can walk, thank you very much), then wheels him into the cruiser and dumps him in the passenger seat. When they get home, the Sheriff guides him upstairs with an arm around his waist, and gently leaves him on the bed and starts the shower. After an extreme eye-rolling argument, Stiles finally convinces his dad to go into work and let him shower on his own. His dad leaves, and Stiles heads upstairs, all the while wiggling out of his hospital gown, only to find Derek laying on his bed, and _damn_ , is he grateful he asked for underwear.

"Oh." Stiles says. Derek doesn't look up.

"And you're supposed shower alone. With that," Derek nods at Stiles' side without looking up. "And thirty two stitches total."

Stiles closes his mouth, which has been hanging open. "And you're gonna help me? _Derek_ _Hale_? Are you feeling okay? Not - you're not sick or anything?"

If looks could kill, Stiles would be dead three times over. Derek gives him a glare like he's going to murder him the second he gets in the shower. Still, Stiles ignores him and stomps (more like waddles with a hand on his side) into the bathroom, alone. With some painful flailing, Stiles manages to peel off his bandages and slowly pull off the gauze on his gashes. What he sees forces him to sit down. Closest to his ribs is the spot where he got clipped by the arrow, a deep, jagged, four inch gash, all stitched up. Below it, is the knife wound, which is just as deep. The top one has more stitches, though. Just the thought of how bad he must've bled is enough to make set his heartbeat off. Pulse still racing, Stiles pulls off his (well, technically not his) boxers and turns on the shower.

Stiles steps under the streaming water, trying - and ultimately failing - to calm his heartbeat. The thought of how badly he was hurt terrifies him - though he'd never admit it. His dad's already worried out of his mind, he doesn't need Stiles getting himself killed when he's not even supposed to be out. And he especially doesn't need Stiles "dating" Derek, who, first of all, is way, way, way too old for him, and second, would never, ever like Stiles. Stiles scrubs an angry hand through his hair; he does not need what's happening right now. His heartbeat keeps racing, breathing getting rapid and ragged, vision blurring. He can feel his entire body shaking, see the water he's standing in beginning to run pink, then red, and then the door's opening.

It only takes a minute for Stiles to calm down; things get better once he's in bed.

He hasn't had a panic attack in almost four years.

Stiles' vision clears, and Derek's sitting there on the edge of his bed with one hand on his chest and another clasped around Stiles' wrist. He's looking at Stiles like he's made of glass; Stiles' never even seen Derek look so gentle. Stiles lets his head fall back onto his pillow, chest heaving. After a few minutes, Derek moves his hand off Stiles' chest, but his other hand lingers on his wrist. His hand's big enough that his thumb and forefinger connect around Stiles' wrist. Stiles glances up at Derek, who stands before Stiles can get a word out.

"... Panic attack." Stiles says. "I went, like, four years without a single one."

Without a word, Derek glances at his side. Stiles looks, too; he's reopened the stab wound just a bit, but it's enough to have a substantial amount of blood dripping onto his bed, and - oh. Derek got him a towel. But it still hurts like a _motherfucker_ to have his ribs almost exposed again for the second time in a week. Stiles groans loudly, and Derek presses a hand to his side, right next to the two large gashes just below Stiles' ribs. Derek looks... almost concerned ( _Derek_! Concerned about someone other than himself!). Stiles gasps and flinches as he pushes down.

"Sorry, sorry. Your stitches aren't open, just, like, an inch of your side. Just sit tight 'til it stops." Derek says softly.

Stiles shuts his eyes, mouth opening and closing like a fish. Then, Stiles thinks of something that makes his blood run cold. Without opening his eyes, he says, "Dude,"

"What?" Derek asks.

"Please tell me I'm not naked right now."

Derek chuckles. "There's a towel."

"Sorry, man. Not really prepared for super fun panic attacks anymore." Stiles deadpans.

Derek doesn't say anything, just sighs a bit. Stiles' side is throbbing, painful every time his heart beats, but eventually Derek pulls his hands away with a sticky sound from the blood. Stiles sits up, and is sure to drag the towel with him. "You have to take a shower again, you know." Derek reminds him.

"Thanks, Derek. You know, you're a real gem to have around. I'm so glad you've decided that you're going to live here." Stiles snaps.

"Mhm." Derek raises his eyebrows. "And you still need to shower. And I'm gonna have t -"

"Nope. No thanks, big boy. I can do this myself. Don't need the big bad wolf in the shower with me." Stiles slowly gets to his feet.

"Then I will sit on the floor of the bathroom and make sure you don't have a panic attack." Derek says, and Stiles doesn't need to look at him to know he's rolling his eyes.

With a long, loud groan, Stiles heads into the bathroom with Derek a few paces behind him. He lets the towel pool on the floor and steps into the shower, turning the water on cold and letting it wash away the blood. After his mom died, Stiles couldn't even stand taking showers in hot water anymore. Panic attacks came and went, and after a while, his dad had him get a cold shower to calm down after. At first, they sucked, but, after a while, Stiles grew accustomed to the icy burn of the water beating on his back. Stiles did a lot of things differently after his mom died. He wonders how Derek felt after the fire, left alone with an uncle who couldn't speak and a sister scarred for life and another who fled for South America. Derek thought the latter was dead for years.

He hears Derek lean against the wall and sigh. Stiles considers saying something to break the silence, but he doesn't need to.

"Why are you showering in cold water, dumbass?" Derek deadpans.

"Because it brings me back to reality after a panic attack, Fido." Stiles bites back.

"That's not good for -"

"Derek," Stiles scrubs a hand through his hair and squeezes his eyes shut. "Could you - just for ten fucking minutes - stop acting like I'm made of glass?"

Stiles lowers himself until he's sitting on the floor on his heels, and puts his head in his hands. Derek has never known what a headache feels like. He'll never need to endure one of those God awful paper cuts, or suffer through spring allergies. He's never had to take medicine for strep throat, or had to spend a week home from school because of a stomach virus. Anything that's wrong with Derek can fix itself within seconds. His skin knits together seconds after it's sliced open, bones mend themselves the millisecond after they're broken. Stiles, he has to go through the motions of everything. If Derek was stabbed, he'd have been healed and fine within a minute. Stiles is going to be house-ridden for at least two weeks. Probably more.

"I'm not - I don't need your werewolf shit to get better, okay? I can do that myself. I don't - I can't heal like you and Scott and Isaac and all them can. I just can't. And, like, honestly dude, I don't wanna. I get that I'm the idiot sidekick with the hurtful sarcasm and terrible jokes. I get that. And I'm good at that. Truthfully, I'm more scared of Lydia then I am of life-and-death situations. I'm not even scared of you." He sighs. "I get that you've been through absolute shit - I can't even imagine what you've been through. But I've been through shit too. I watched my mom die right in front of me - she slipped through my fingers before I even got the chance to say I love you. But, like, you don't need to pretend that I can't take care of myself, okay? I'm a big kid."

Derek doesn't say anything for a long time. Stiles is half sure he got up and left.

"I don't think you're made of glass." Is all he says for a minute.

Stiles blinks a few times, unsure if Derek actually said anything or if Stiles had imagined it.

"I think you're human, and you can't do the stuff I do. But that doesn't think I mean you're weak, Stiles. Hell, any human who can watch us do this shit and not go fucking crazy is just as strong as us. You're not made of glass. You're made of something stronger than you think."

Did - did Derek Hale just say that? Stiles must've heard wrong. Slowly, he shuts off the water and stands up. He's cold, fucking freezing, actually, and he stands in the shower for a minute to shake off the horrible feeling in his chest. When he steps out of the shower, there's a fluffy blue towel sitting on the floor in a heap. Derek must've left it for him. That's - okay. Stiles shakes his hair out and grabs the towel, wrapping it around his shoulders like he's an old lady. Once he's warm and dry, Stiles wraps the towel around his waist and makes his way into his bedroom, where Derek seems to be on Skype with Scott. Derek glances at him when he comes in, but doesn't say anything.

"Hey, dude, where've you been?" Scott asks, waving at Stiles through the screen.

"Mm, lemme see - I was in the hospital for five days, I've been under house arrest since I got home, and, according to Derek, there are thirty two stitches in my side. I've been a little busy, Scott." Stiles shakes out his wet hair again.

Scott laughs. "Feeling better? Derek says you reopened the stab one."

"Yeah, after my first panic attack in four years." Stiles turns his back to Derek and Scott and drops the towel at his feet. He pulls on a pair of fuzzy sweatpants and a Beacon Hills lacrosse long-sleeved T-shirt. Then, he sits on the armrest of his computer chair, ignoring the way his good side brushes against Derek.

"Shit... you okay?" Scott asks quickly.

"Peachy." Stiles glares at him.

Derek looks at him for a minute. "You know I have to wrap you up again."

Stiles groans, loud and obnoxious. "I guess we have to go, Scotty."

"Later, Stiles." Scott is the one to disconnect, not Derek.

Stiles raises his eyebrows as Derek stands, and the chair overturns from the weight of Stiles on the armrest. Stiles lands on the floor in a heap, groaning as his left side hits the ground. He looks around for Derek, but he can distantly hear his footsteps on the stairs as he makes his way to the kitchen, where Stiles left the gauze and medical tape.

"You okay?" Derek calls.

"You got off that fucking chair and made me fall, asshole!" Stiles yells back. With some flailing (because nothing for Stiles is complete without some flailing), he pulls himself to his feet.

He's not positive, but he's pretty sure he hears Derek laugh. With a sigh, Stiles pulls his shirt back over his head and lays on his bed with his legs hanging off the end. Derek is back seconds later, tape and bandages in hand. He looks at Stiles intently, and he sits bolt upright on his bed.

As Derek winds the gauze around his middle (substantially less than he had on earlier), Stiles can't help but think of his dad. He is actually the worst son ever. He got his dad fired earlier this year because of Jackson's restraining order. He went out on Friday, even after his dad had specifically told him just to stay at their house. And now, he's here, stuck at home with two gashes deep in his side and his dad thinks he's going out with a convicted felon, who's, like, six years older than him. Oh, God, does the Sheriff think they're having sex? Oh, _no no no_.

"Stiles." Derek snaps. "Stop thinking so hard. Your heart's racing." His fingers trace Stiles' side as he slowly wraps the bandage around his waist.

"Maybe if you didn't have to use your damn _werewolf_ _senses_ all the time, we wouldn't have this problem." Stiles throws his hands in the air.

"Stiles, I can't turn them off. It's a sense. You don't stop hearing just cause you don't feel like hearing something." Derek wraps the bandage once around his shoulder and fastens it with tape.

"Well then stop listening to my heartbeat. Listen to my neighbor's, she's got a pacemaker." Now that Derek's done, Stiles lays back on his bed with a groan.

Derek tosses the tape and bandages on Stiles' computer desk and goes back downstairs.

"Yeah, I'll just stay up here!" Stiles calls.

Derek doesn't come upstairs for a while, but when he does, Stiles is already asleep, tired from his panic attack and all the physical exertion he's gone through today.

∆

"Derek _fucking_ Hale, why are you sitting in my room at three in the morning?" Stiles hisses into the darkness.

He knows Derek's there, he can hear his breathing.

"I told you why I'm staying already." Derek says from the corner. Stiles' eyes adjust to the darkness, and he sees that Derek is sitting on the floor, eyes closed and head rested against the wall.

"But you don't need to watch me sleep." Stiles groans.

"You didn't give me a chance to tell you." Derek says vaguely.

Stiles sighs. "What did you need to tell me?" He asks.

"It's the hunters."

"Did Scott find them?" Stiles sits up.

"No, not really. They - when you got between that hunter and me, they took that as a declaration."

"A declaration? A declaration of what?"

"That you're one of us."

"I'm human, dude, I'm not one of you."

"But you're still pack."

"Uh, no I'm not."

"You reek of us. Of me and Scott."

"But I'm not part of your pack."

"Stiles, yes you are. And so is Lydia. You more than her, but, still."

Stiles' eyebrows furrow, and he drags his fingers through his hair. He's not part of anything. He's just Stiles, skinny, sarcastic, defenseless Stiles. Not long ago, the most exciting thing that had ever happened to him was the one time Lydia Martin bumped into him in the hallway at school. But he just had to go out that night, just because he wanted to find a dead body. And now Scott is a werewolf and he's been pulled into this whole web of lies and monsters out of some fantasy novel he would've read as a kid. All because he wanted to see a dead body. Sitting here, with two huge gashes in his side and a werewolf in his bedroom who may or may not actually hate him and there's a crazy group of hunters on the loose, all members of whom now think Stiles is some weird pack pet of Derek's.

"I can literally hear how hard you're thinking. You broadcast everything." Derek deadpans. If Stiles had to pick a word to describe Derek, it would be deadpan.

"Well, buddy, there's a lot of shit going on right now, and I can't do a damn thing about it, so forgive me if I'm a little worried."

Derek doesn't say anything, only sighs in response. Stiles sighs back and lays down again. It's a long time before he falls asleep.

∆

In the morning, Stiles' dad wakes him up with a cup of coffee, four pills, and a concerned look.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" Stiles mumbles, sitting up. "I hurt myself, I didn't tear it open having sex with my bad boy boyfriend Derek Hale."

He regrets the joke the second it slips through his lips.

His dad narrows his eyes at Stiles, so he swallows the pills dry and takes a big sip of coffee. It burns its way down his throat, all hot and bitter in all the right ways. It doesn't burn away the major fuck-up Stiles has just made, though. Oh, oh, Derek's probably right outside his window, sitting on the roof. He's going to rip Stiles' throat out. With his teeth. Stiles shifts in bed, and waves of pain - though a tiny bit weaker than before - roll through his side.

"Stiles," His dad sits on the side of his bed. "That's not funny -

"How many times have I told you that we're not dating? I'm - I don't, like -"

"Just - just make sure you're being safe, okay?" His dad's eyebrows knit together.

Stiles' eyes open so wide he's sure he must look like a cartoon. "Dad!"

The Sheriff raises his hands in surrender and heads downstairs. Stiles groans as loud as he can and holds his coffee closer to his chest. His dad comes back up a few minutes later in uniform and tells Stiles he's working the night shift and he's got a case he's working on, so he'll be gone until the wee hours of the morning. No sooner does Stiles hear his dad's cruiser pull out of the driveway than Derek swings in through his window with a very not-angry face, which is new. Derek's always angry. He looks... almost like he's about to... laugh.

"You feeling okay there, buddy? You look alarmingly pleasant." Stiles gestures to Derek with his coffee. Derek sits in Stiles' computer chair, and Stiles almost sees the corners of his lips quirk up just the tiniest bit.

"You're on something strong." Derek notes.

Stiles takes a sip of his coffee. "You never do say hello, do ya, big guy?"

"Hello is a waste of time." Derek looks at Stiles like he's curious.

"Well then what're goodbyes?" Stiles raises his eyebrows.

"Goodbyes are just shit." Derek shrugs.

"True. These are all very true points here." Stiles notes, shifting so he's sitting up straighter. The movement sends pain through his veins, and he grimaces.

"You're hurting." Derek's curiosity changes to concern.

Stiles frowns. "I'm fine, dude. Don't get your leash in a knot."

Derek glares at him. "I thought Scott told you what I'd do if you kept going with those dog jokes."

"No, but lemme guess. Rip my throat out with your teeth." Stiles raises an eyebrow.

Derek's mouth opens and closes a few times. He snaps it shut and narrows his eyes at Stiles. "Stop changing the subject, I can smell the pain on you."

"You know, I'm starting to think that your 'werewolf senses' are just an invasion of privacy." Stiles takes another sip of his coffee and leaves it on his bedside table.

"You're changing the subject again, you little shit." Derek narrows his eyes further. He stands and comes closer to Stiles, looking at his side. Stiles tries his hardest not to flinch when Derek lifts his shirt up to check the bandage.

"It's one of my tale - _wooooah_ , what're you doing?" Stiles cuts off as Derek's large hand pushes gently against his side. He groans; it hurts more than he'd like to admit.

"Shut up and stop thinking."

Stiles can sort of do the first part. The second part is a little tricky. He watches as Derek closes his eyes and takes a deep breath. Hard as he tries, Stiles can't not think about how warm his hand is or how good his aftershave smells or how peaceful he looks with his eyes closed. Then, slowly, all the pain in Stiles' side slips away like sand running through his fingers. Derek slides his hand back down Stiles' side and pulls his shirt back down.

Stiles looks around. He can hear something deep and steady thumping close by, but he can't tell what it is. Closing his eyes, Stiles takes a deep breath. He can smell Derek even stronger now, his alluring aftershave, something like leaves, and some underlying musky scent. As Derek sits on the bed, Stiles understands what the thumping sound is. It's Derek's heartbeat.

"Holy God - Why can I hear everything? What did you just do?" Stiles asks quickly.

Derek opens his eyes and looks at Stiles. "Scott's never done that?"

"Oh, God." Stiles groans. "You just did some crazy-ass werewolf shit on me, didn't you? I told you guys I didn't want to change, Jesus Christ -"

"Stiles, you're not shifting, okay? I just took some of the pain." Derek shrugs, and Stiles' eyes flick to his arm, which is rested carefully on his leg. Derek's veins are black, running all the way up to his elbow.

Stiles' eyes widen. "Does that mean you're hurting?" His eyebrows knit together. Without thinking, he adds, "Cause that's not any better."

Derek just blinks. "It doesn't hurt, my arm just gets all," He gestures vaguely to his blackened veins.

"Oh. Thanks." Stiles grabs his coffee from the bedside table.

Neither of them say anything for a while, they just avoid looking at each other and stare at different things in Stiles' bedroom. Which he definitely should've cleaned. No - if he cleaned, his dad would think he wanted to impress Derek, and he doesn't need his dad asking any more questions.

"Coffee maker's still on, if you want some." Stiles says after a while. "Only thing is, you have to get me a refill."

Derek gives him a half smile and snatches the mug out of his hands before heading downstairs. Stiles watches him go, confused beyond all belief. Derek... just... smiled... Derek... just... helped him... Is this actually happening? Derek? Being nice? Stiles has no choice but to believe it when Derek comes back upstairs with two mugs of coffee and a DVD that he can't see the cover of. With a shit-eating grin, Derek sets up one of the movies on Stiles' laptop and turns it so Stiles can see from his bed. When the copyright image comes up, Derek moves Stiles over and sits on the bed with him, leaning against the headboard. Stiles folds his arms over his chest with a skeptical look and waits for the movie to start.

It's The Wolfman.

"You didn't," Stiles shakes his head. "You didn't just put this on. Derek Hale has a sense of humor?" Derek takes an innocent sip of coffee. "Fine, wolf boy. I'm picking the next one. And we're watching the whole damn thing."

"This whole movie is a load of bullshit!" Stiles says through a haze of borderline-hysterical laughter. Derek's laughing too, a sound Stiles wants to hear for the rest of his life. When Derek laughs, his eyes crinkle at the corners and his smile is so big and so real and so pleasant that it makes Stiles wonder why he ever tries to be brooding and mysterious. Once the movie's over, Stiles heads downstairs (capable of doing so thanks to Derek's weird werewolf magic), and picks out a movie that he's not too proud of owning. It involves werewolves, vampires, and an empty shell of a girl who doesn't deserve either of them in the slightest.

"Stiles, who do you even own this?" Derek asks, looking at the title sequence over his mug. "And why only the second one?"

Stiles' cheeks get hot. "Wait 'til you see the one after this." He winks, and Derek laughs again, all smiles and pretty eyes and a sound that rings in Stiles' ears long after he's gone quiet.

"Nobody can ever shift into that." Derek snorts. "Jesus, look at her petting him like they're friends. This entire movie sucks. Why does no one wear shirts? Why do they all have that dumb tattoo? God, I -"

"You and Scott have pack tattoos." Stiles points out.

"Uh, yeah, because we _wanted_ them." Derek says like it's the most obvious thing in the world. "And we don't run around shirtless." He adds.

"Well I doubt Jacob's tattoo required a blow torch." Stiles adds.

Derek rolls his eyes. "Shut up."

The next movie is worse.

"Oh, look, his name's Peter. Awesome." Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles bites his lip. "Forgot about that."

"This kid isn't even the wolf, it's Valerie's dad." Derek waves a dismissive hand at the TV.

"How - how do you know that?" Stiles sits up straight, surprised.

"He's never around when the wolf's around." Derek turns his attention back to the movie. "This is completely unrealistic. Does it have the line?"

Stiles raises an eyebrow. "What line are we referring to, big guy?"

"You know - what big eyes you have! The better to see you with, all that crap." Derek rolls his eyes.

Stiles pauses for a minute, thinking. "Uh, d'you want me to lie, or like - how are we doin' this?"

"It has it, then." Derek groans. "Christ, this movie sucks. What the hell's a 'blood moon'? Do those even exist?"

"You're the moon expert here, dude."

"Well there are total lunar eclipses - we can't do jack shit during those, but I don't think 'blood moons' are a thing."

"Well, I mean, you can bite people all year 'round, can't ya Alpha?"

"I could bite you right now."

"With your teeth?" Stiles deadpans, looking over at Derek.

Derek laughs again, and Stiles' heart skips a beat. And Derek probably heard it, fuck. "You have to use your teeth to bite people. yes."

"This whole conversation is starting to sound very weird." Stiles wrinkles his nose.

"The werewolf part or the biting part?" Derek raises his eyebrows.

"I'm used to all that werewolf shit now, I mean the biting. Unless, like, that's some kind of weird hazing you guys do. Biting the new ones a few extra times."

"Oh, you're hilarious."

Stiles turns his attention back to the movie, shifting over a bit, and if his side almost touches Derek's, well, that's purely coincidental. He and Derek hang around in his room watching movies and TV until his dad comes home, and Derek ducks out the window. Stiles waits for his dad to open the door and check that he's sleeping, then sits up again, waiting for Derek to come back in. He doesn't, though.

In the morning, his dad comes in and tells him he'll be at work for a while, and leaves him with a hug and a cup of coffee. Derek swings through his window again as soon as Stiles hears the front door close. Right away, Derek sits in Stiles' computer chair and starts it up.

"Well, hello to you too, asswipe." Stiles frowns.

"I told you I don't like hello." Derek says vaguely.

"What're you looking up? Also, you can totally use my computer, yeah. Don't even need to ask, of course not." Stiles rolls his eyes.

"I'm checking how often bandages need to be changed when you've got stitches." Derek says, typing away.

Stiles' mouth falls open involuntarily. "You - you're what?"

"Is it that strange that I'm being nice? Didn't I tell you how nice I can be?" Derek turns around in his chair, frowning.

"Dude, you smashed my face into a steering wheel." Stiles' eyebrows knit together.

Derek thinks this over, cocking his head. "That was because you made me read a dictionary for two hours while your buddy traced a text."

Stiles laughs, fondly remembering that day. "That wasn't one of my finest moments, I'll admit."

"Obviously." Derek looks back at Stiles' laptop and reads something over. "Shower. You have to shower."

Stiles groans loudly. "Now?" He asks, wrinkling his nose.

"Up, let's go." Derek is at his bedside within seconds, a hand around his arm, pulling him up.

"Noooooooooooooo!"

Derek hauls him up, hands under Stiles' armpits like he's a little kid. Deciding not to go down without a fight, Stiles flails around like his life depends on it. Which is a bad idea. His side feels like it's been torn open again, but as soon as it started, it stops. Stiles looks back at Derek as they walk into the bathroom. Oh. The veins in his arms are black again, he must be doing the pain thing. Derek deposits him in the bathroom, pain free and weirdly happy. Derek sits on the floor again, a book in his hand.

"I think I can do it by myself, thanks." Stiles raises his eyebrows at Derek.

"Just get in the shower, I'll be reading."

With a groan, Stiles tugs his shirt over his head and tosses it at Derek's head. Derek catches it without looking up and throws it aside. His sweatpants and boxers fall to the floor quicker than he's ever taken them off before, and he's in the shower even quicker. The sight of his side doesn't even make him bat an eyelash; it's healing fast. Stiles isn't sure if that's just his humanness or Derek's healing, but he doesn't really care.

"You're getting better. I can smell the pain going away." Derek says.

"I'm pretty sure that's your magic werewolf shit, dude." Stiles says as he rinses his hair out.

"Or maybe it's your coconut shampoo." Derek snorts.

Stiles pokes his head out from behind the shower curtain with a murderous glare. "My shampoo smells great. Asswipe."

Derek just chuckles and goes back to his book, and Stiles groans. He isn't sure if he likes this "nice Derek" too much. Well, that's kind of a lie. He likes this Derek a lot. It's just a little... weird. He's never seen Derek smile like this, or actually heard him laugh. Actually, that's kind of a lie, too. He's heard Derek laugh plenty of times, it's just never been genuine. Now, it's like Derek is an actual person. Someone who smiles, and laughs, reads, and makes jokes. It's like he's normal.

"Stiles." Derek says urgently. Stiles can hear him standing.

"What, What?!" Stiles asks just as quickly.

"Your dad's home."

He hears the window open, and then the Sheriff is knocking on the door. "Stiles? You alright in there?"

"Yeah, yeah, Dad, I'm fine." Stiles says quickly.

"Come on out, we need to talk." He says softly.

Stiles turns the water off, steps out of the shower, wraps a towel around his waist. Sticking his head out the window, Stiles hisses at Derek not to listen. He doesn't see Derek, but he knows he's listening. His dad's waiting outside, leaning against the wall and looking worried. Stiles shakes his hair out and leans against the other side, mirroring his father.

"What's up?" He asks.

His dad sighs. "I meant to ask you this earlier, but I'm distracted with work, and - and the anniversary's tomorrow."

Stiles' shoulders slump forward. Oh.

"I don't - I hardly even know what happened to you, Stiles." Stiles starts to speak, but his dad cuts him off. "Scott told me you guys got mugged in the woods, but nothing happened to him."

"Dad, I -"

"Why is it always _you_ , Stiles?" He sounds broken.

"I - Dad, I'm sorry, I - they snuck up on us, it wasn't - we couldn't see -"

Before Stiles can say anything else, his dad pulls him into his chest and holds him close. Stiles pats his back, sighing as they stand there.

"I'm sorry, Dad." He says quietly.

"I know I don't say it a lot, and I know that I need to, Stiles, I know. I love you, kid."

Stiles' heart breaks a little bit. He's put his dad through so much shit these past few months. And it's not fair to him. Here Stiles is, with a werewolf that his dad is convinced he's dating out on the roof, a best friend who's still waiting for someone who's not coming, and two huge gashes from things that aren't even supposed to exist. And all his dad knows is that he got mugged. And it's not fair to him. Stiles knows he can't tell his dad, but he deserves to know. And that kills Stiles.

"I love you too, Dad." Stiles says softly. "And I'm okay, Dad. I really am."

Stiles' dad pats his back and lets him go, smiling. "Alright, come on. I'll make you some lunch."

The Sheriff heads for the stairs, and Stiles pulls on clothes before he follows him. Stiles looks around the bathroom, Derek must've taken the book outside with him. With a small smile and a roll of his eyes, Stiles makes his way downstairs with his dad. To his surprise, his dad makes him grilled cheese and tomato soup, something Stiles' mom used to make when he was sick and stayed home from school. It's good, it tastes like home. When they've finished lunch, Stiles and his dad chill in the living room and watch bad reruns of FRIENDS while "bonding". At least, that's what Stiles' dad keeps calling it.

The Sheriff doesn't leave until around dinner. He tells Stiles not to eat junk food (he's healing), to get to bed at a good time (sleeping helps the healing process), and that he'll be home in the morning. He leaves Stiles with a hug and a pat on the back. The door shuts behind the Sheriff, and Stiles looks around.

"Derek! You can come in now, buddy'o." Stiles calls.

He doesn't come in, nor does he make any effort to let Stiles know he's there.

More than a little disappointed, Stiles makes his way into the kitchen to make himself another grilled cheese. He finds Derek sitting on the counter, dressed in clean clothes and looking smug.

To say that Stiles almost jumps out of his skin is an understatement.

"Holy God - don't fucking do that!" Stiles clutches his chest.

Derek rolls his eyes. "I thought you said you weren't scared of me?"

"'m kinda scared of stuff that appears in my house!" Stiles hisses. "You are such an asshole, I don't even know why I put up with you."

"It's your fault I'm here, Stiles."

"Stiles isn't my name, asswipe." Stiles wrinkles his nose at Derek.

"And asswipe isn't mine, you little shit." Derek glares at him.

Stiles narrows his eyes. "Sorry, shithead."

"I'm surprised I haven't hit you before." Derek deadpans.

"Okay, cheekbones, tone it down a notch."

Derek's eyebrows furrow, and Stiles can tell he's thinking of his cheekbones. Rolling his eyes, Derek hops over the couch and sits down next to Stiles. "What're we watching?"

"Terrible, terrible television." Stiles shakes his head.

"Let’s do something, then.” Derek suggests. Stiles wracks his brain, thinking of something they could do.

“There’s nothing I can actually do, though. Not even with your werewolf ouija.” He frowns, lifting his shirt to look at his side. “Does that help me heal at all? Or is it just like pain meds?”

“Ouija? Really?” Derek turns to glare at him. Stiles shrugs, smirking. “It kinda helps - you know how you can hear and smell more after I’ve done the thing?” Stiles nods, but he doesn’t remember telling Derek he could do that. Maybe he just already knows. “Yeah, it’s like you kinda absorb some of my abilities. So you can heal a little faster. For the time being.”

Stiles nods slowly. “Okaaaaaaay. We still have nothing to do,”

“Maybe we shouldn’t go out - what if your dad decides to show up again?” Derek raises his eyebrows.

“Then he’ll think we’re on a date... dammit!” He groans.

Derek laughs and stands, heading into the kitchen. Stretching out on the couch, Stiles doesn’t bother to ask what he’s doing. He flips through the channels until he finds Point Break. It sounds like Derek’s making something in the kitchen, but Stiles’ hearing - even heightened from Derek’s healing - isn’t keen enough that he can tell what Derek’s doing. A minute later, though, he can smell the brownie batter.

“Dude, you're making our brownies?” Stiles asks, standing. He makes his way into the kitchen and freezes when he sees Derek Hale bent over a bowl of brownie batter, stirring his heart out.

"Brownies are good." Derek says when he sees Stiles' face.

"I'm seriously starting to get freaked out by your niceness, Derek. Like, it's getting weird." Stiles says slowly.

"Get used to it, I'm stuck here 'til the hunters leave us alone." Derek shrugs and dips a finger in the brownie batter. Stiles does not watch when he licks it off. He doesn't.

Stiles wrinkles his nose, dragging his fingers through his hair. "What day of the week is it?" Derek laughs at him.

"Friday. 's been a week since you got stabbed." Grabbing a pan from under the sink, Derek pours the brownie batter into it.

"Why do you know how to do this?" Stiles asks warily.

Rolling his eyes, Derek looks at Stiles over his shoulder. "I wasn't raised in a barn, Stiles."

"I know, you _were_ raised by -"

"Don't you fucking say it." Derek growls, the ghost of a smile on his lips.

Stiles ignores him. "Wolves. You were raised by wolves, bud."

"Bud." He wrinkles his nose, and Stiles has never seen something so adorable. "Don't call me bud. Ew."

Stiles rolls his eyes, and is reminded of the book. "Hey asswipe, did you steal my book? Because I like that book."

Derek laughs and nods toward the living room. "It's on the table in there."

"Why the hell would you wanna read Harry Potter?" Stiles' face falls. "Oh God, that stuff isn't real, right?"

Derek laughs, loud and beautiful and Stiles could listen to it forever. "That kind of stuff isn't real, Stiles.”

Stiles nods and puts his head down in shame. Derek laughs at him again. He watches as Derek puts the brownies into the oven and shuts it. Noticing the batter on his face, Stiles gestures to his chin, and Derek gets the message and wipes it off with a laugh. Stiles is glad Derek realized it on his own, otherwise they would’ve had some weird chick flick moment right there. Derek’s eyes flick to the door, and seconds later Scott and Isaac burst in through the door.

“Is something wrong?” Stiles asks quickly.

Scott shakes his head, frowning. “Who said we needed an excuse to see our injured friend?”

Stiles perks up at that, remembering something. “Dude, why didn’t you ever tell me you could take away pain? I could’ve used that the time Gerard beat the shit out of me, you know.”

Derek looks at him. “Gerard hit you?”

“Well, he was also torturing Erica and Boyd at the time, so.” Stiles shrugs.

“How’re you feeling?” Isaac asks, putting off what Stiles is sure would’ve been an argument.

Stiles gives Isaac a half-shrug, and Isaac puts an arm around his shoulders. “We can’t all heal within two seconds, can we?” He raises his eyebrows, and catches sight of Derek rolling his eyes.

“Dude, there’s a supernatural movie marathon on all night.” Scott pulls a huge bag of Sour Patch Kids out of his hoodie and tosses it to Stiles. Unfortunately, Stiles’ reflexes aren’t quick enough, and the bag slips out of his hand. Derek catches it though.

“Fucking showoff.” Stiles snatches the bag out of his hands and struts into the living room.

Sitting on the couch, Stiles rips the bag open and waits for his friends to come in and sit with him. Derek jumps over the couch again (“I told you he’s a showoff.”) and grabs a handful of Sour Patch Kids. Scott and Isaac sit on his left and turn on the TV. Isaac puts an arm around his shoulder again, saying he’s glad Stiles is okay. Stiles gives him an cheesy smile and leans into his side.

“Oh, Isaac. I’m so glad you’re glad I’m okay.” He makes a kissy face at him. “Is anyone else glad I’m glad he’s glad I’m okay?”

A hysterical laugh bubbles out of Scott’s mouth, and Stiles and Isaac join in. Soon Derek’s laughing too; his shoulder bumps Stiles’ as he leans forward. As they watch the marathon (Nosferatu is on first), Stiles keeps seeing Derek looking at him out of the corner of his eye. They finish the Sour Patch Kids in record time, and Stiles is forced to break into his stash of skittles he keeps in his bedroom. As he tosses one into his mouth, Stiles’ skittle is intercepted by Derek, who tosses it into Scott’s mouth. Stiles flips Derek off and makes a show of popping a skittle into his mouth. Laughing, Derek throws one at his forehead. Stiles throws one back, and then another hits his ear. Isaac shoves a handful of skittles down Stiles shirt, and he squirms around, trying to get them out. Soon, it’s a full-on battle, every man for himself.

Stiles, while yelling that he’s at a total disadvantage against three werewolves, ducks for cover behind the couch. Derek appears above him, dropping three skittles on his forehead. He's gone before Stiles can do anything. All too soon, all of the skittles are on the ground, and Stiles, Isaac, Derek, and Scott are stuck cleaning them up.

Isaac groans as he reaches under the couch to recover the candies. "Don't you have a vacuum?"

Stiles look up from the ground. "Oh, I'm sorry, Isaac. I wasn't aware we'd be having a war today, next time I'll remember."

As he reaches for a skittle on the floor, Stiles slips and lands on his stitches. He cries out, and his friends are by his side in seconds. Scott lifts his shirt up, and Stiles closes his eyes.

"You didn't tear any stitches, so that's good." Scott says, and Stiles breathes a sigh of relief.

Isaac's hand is suddenly resting on Stiles' side, and the pain fades away. "Better?"

"Yeah, thanks, man." Stiles breathes. "I fucking hate being injured."

Scott helps Stiles up and deposits him on the couch, makes him sit tight while he, Derek, and Isaac clean up the skittles. Just as Scott sits on the couch, his mom calls and reminds him of his curfew (in effect after he went out last Friday).

Scott heaves a sigh. “My mom says me and Isaac have to come home.”

“I’m subject to your curfew too?!” Isaac sits up, looking up at Scott with a frown, and Stiles laughs.

With a nod, Scott stands. “Yeah, sorry, dude.” Turning to Stiles, Scott stands him up and pulls him into a hug. “I’ll call you tomorrow, alright? We’re on patrol duty tonight.”

“Why?” Stiles cocks his head, sliding his fingers through his hair.

Isaac and Scott look at Derek, who stands. Stiles braces himself for the bad news that he knows is coming. “Isaac ran into the hunters last night. They didn’t fight or anything, just kinda looked at each other. They were in the woods just a mile or so from your house.” Derek says.

“That’s - uh, that’s not good.” Stiles says slowly.

Derek gives him his signature eye roll. “No. No, it’s not. Isaac and Scott are gonna lead them away somehow and buy us more time.”

“More time for what?” Stiles asks.

“Time for you to heal so we can get you out of here.” Scott explains. “You’re gonna stay at Derek’s for a few nights, and we’re gonna get rid of the hunters.”

“You think my dad’s gonna let me stay at Derek Hale’s loft for a night? He already thinks we’re dating, I don’t need any more suspicion from him.” Stiles raises an eyebrow, and Scott and Isaac burst out laughing.

Isaac wipes his tears of laughter away with the sleeve of his sweater and looks between Stiles and Derek. Derek shoots him a murderous glare, and any traces of smiles drop off his and Scott’s faces. “Totally not even funny. Like, why would he think that, dude?”

Stiles shoves Derek playfully and ushers Isaac and Scott out. With a promise that he’ll call, Scott climbs on his motorbike and Isaac gets on the back. Stiles shuts the door before he starts it up. A loud beep goes off from the kitchen, and Stiles watches as Derek pulls the brownies out of the oven and sets the pan on the table. Skipping into the kitchen, Stiles rubs his hands together evilly and waits for Derek to cut him a brownie.

“Oh my god, dude, hurry up!” Stiles whines, flopping into a kitchen chair.

Derek hands him a brownie and begins searching through the cabinets for a glass. “Where d’you keep the glasses?”

“Cabinet right above the fridge.” Stiles says through a mouthful of brownies.

By the time Derek has handed him a glass of milk, Stiles has already finished his brownie. “Wow. So glad I decided to be nice.”

“Force feeding me brownies is nice?” Stiles looks up at him.

“I didn’t force you to do anything.” Derek frowns. “You fucking inhaled it.”

“Now, inhaled is a very loose term, ‘cause I can eat a lot faster than that. Put me in front of a pizza after a long day at school -” Stiles whistles. “That is the definition of inhale, Hale.”

Derek gives him an eye roll and sits across from him. “You’re funny.”

“Dog jokes are my real specialty.” Stiles winks, feeling a little reckless.

“I’m gonna -”

“Wait, wait. Lemme guess - you’re gonna rip my throat out. With your teeth.” Stiles rolls his eyes. “You need some new threats that are actually intimidating.”

“You’re a little shit.” He glares at Stiles.

“A little shit who you’re stuck taking care of.” Stiles sings.

"Maybe if you'd _listened_ to me in the first place and stayed in last week, we wouldn't be having this problem." Derek snaps.

Stiles blinks a few times. "Oh, I'm sorry - usually when my best friend and his buddies are threatened by psychotic hunters I just hang home and sing kumbaya with my dad, Derek."

Putting his head in his hands, Derek groans. “You should sleep.”

“Dude, it’s hardly even midnight,”

“Sleeping helps the healing process. Now go.” Stiles doesn’t move. Derek looks up at him, eyes flashing red. “ _Go_.”

A little strangled squeak escapes from Stiles’ lips as he scrambles to get out of the kitchen chair and scuttle upstairs. He pulls off his shirt and climbs into bed in just his sweatpants. So Derek still thinks he's a fragile little child. Awesome. Stiles knows he can take care of himself. He doesn't need some crazy overprotective werewolf watching over him all the time. Still, it worries him to the point of a panic attack to know that the hunters are looking for him. Why him? They know he's just human, so why can’t they use Isaac or Boyd or Cora to lure Derek in? He’s not important to Derek. As far as Stiles knows, Derek’s only being nice to him so he can get better and he can stop babysitting him.

As the night goes on, Stiles’ anxiety increases. Every bump in the night is another hunter coming at him, every shadow he sees is another arrow whizzing for his side. His side starts to hurt again, but Stiles knows that if he calls for Derek, his voice will crack. Plus, Stiles doesn’t even know if Derek is at his house anymore. That thought alone is enough to send Stiles’ heartbeat racing.

 _No_.

He’s not going to have another panic attack. Not now. A few seconds later, he hears the third step creak, and he breathes a sigh of relief, knowing it’s Derek wondering why his heart rate spiked. Derek doesn’t come into his room, but Stiles hears him slide down the wall and sit outside his room.

Stiles doesn’t catch a single wink of sleep.

The next week is spent avoiding getting caught by Stiles’ dad and watching bad movies on Netflix. Every once in a while, Derek will slip up and tell Stiles something about his family life, or his childhood, then he’ll get quiet and brooding and angry and mysterious like he always used to be. It reminds Stiles of a time when he was afraid of Derek. Now, the only thing he’s afraid of is losing Derek. And the thought that he cares that much about Derek Hale terrifies him more than any hunters ever could.

“Derek?”

It’s Thursday night - almost two weeks after Stiles’ injury. He and Derek are sitting on the roof outside Stiles’ window, bored of their usual surroundings. The Sheriff is on call until nine tomorrow, meaning he still won’t get to sleep in. Fresh on werewolf pain meds, Stiles can hear Derek’s steady heartbeat, smell his aftershave and cologne. Stiles is freezing - he’s out on the roof in only sweatpants and a T-shirt.

“You’re cold.” Derek says.

Stiles wrinkles his nose. “As cold as I am, I don’t want you to gimme your jacket so we can have one of those weird chick flick moments.”

Derek chuckles, standing. “I was gonna get you a sweatshirt.”

Stiles face flushes. “That’s - that’s what I was gonna ask.”

Derek comes back out a minute later with a Beacon Hills Lacrosse hoodie and tosses it to Stiles. He mumbles a thank you and pulls it over his head, burying himself in its warmth. It takes a few minutes for him to remember that he wanted to ask Derek about his eyes.

“When - uh, when you were still a beta, your eyes were blue. What does that mean?” He asks quietly. He hears Derek’s heartbeat falter.

Derek sighs. “Most werewolves have yellow eyes. Scott has yellow eyes, and so does Isaac.” He pauses. “I had blue eyes. When a werewolf has blue eyes, it means they’ve taken an innocent life.”

Stiles’ eyes widen. “You -”

“You remember when Peter offered you the bite? And he said either it works, or you’ll die.” Stiles nods. “I was fifteen. The bite - didn’t take. She was dying, and in pain, and -”

“And you put her out of her misery.” Stiles finishes.

“She was dying, She was begging me to -”

“I wasn’t gonna to say anything. I just wanted to know, dude.”

Derek goes quiet for a while. “How’d you lose your mom?”

“She - uh - she was in the hospital for a while. She had a kind of dementia, and, uh, one night, my dad was out on the job, and I was staying at the hospital. I was - I was young, and I thought she was falling asleep -”

“But she was dying.”

“It’s like I said, she slipped right through my fingers before I even knew what was happening.” Stiles’ voice cracks.

Stiles is tired. He’s tired, and he’s scared, and all he wants is for things to go back to normal again.

“Honestly, this whole thing is terrifying. I don’t know if they want you, or me, or Scott - I just don’t know,” Stiles confesses. “I’m scared.”

An enormous weight is lifted from Stiles’ shoulders. It feels good to say it.

“And I know they’re gonna come for me and use me to get to you, and - and they’re gonna kill you, Derek. And it’s gonna be my fault.” He says quietly.

Derek says nothing for a bit, just sighs and looks over at him. “I’m not gonna let anything happen to you. I’m gonna protect you no matter what happens, okay? It’s my fault you’re in this, and I’m gonna get you out of it. Alive.”

“I’m not your damn re -”

“How many times do I have to tell you? They were looking for me when you went out there, and that arrow was supposed to hit me. Even though he missed.” Derek says sternly. “That knife was supposed to hit you, though. That was on purpose.” He tacks on at the end.

Stiles almost laughs. "I figured that." He yawns, stretching his arms out.

"Bedtime?" Derek chuckles, and Stiles glares at him.

"No. I wouldn't be able to sleep, anyway." He says.

Derek turns to look at him. "What do you mean?"

"I - uh, the insomnia kinda came back."

"Kinda?" Derek asks quickly.

"And so did the jumpiness, and the constant feeling that I'm about to have a panic attack." Stiles adds, trying to make it seem casual.

"Stiles!"

"I wasn't gonna tell you - you make a big deal of everything -"

"Because no one tells me anything anymore!"

"Derek, it's fine. I'll... try to sleep right now."

Stiles stands and climbs into his room. As he climbs under his covers, Stiles watches the window, waiting for Derek to come in. His waiting is in vain.

∆

“Dude, go home. I’ll be fine for an hour, okay?”

Derek drags his fingers through his hair. “It’s almost sundown, and -”

“And I’m a hell of a lot better than before, my special stitches are gonna dissolve any day now, and Isaac and Scott haven’t seen jack shit since Isaac ran into them the other night.” Stiles gives Derek a look.

Truthfully, Stiles just wants some time alone. Like, actually alone. He’s tired, and a little annoyed at everything, and he just needs a nap. Scott called a little while ago and told Stiles they hadn’t found anything, so Stiles isn’t worried about Derek leaving. He just wants to sleep. His side hasn’t hurt for a while, and he hasn’t needed Derek to take his pain away since Isaac helped him after he fell last week. He turns on his side, looking at Derek, who’s sitting in his computer chair. Derek catches him staring and raises an eyebrow, but Stiles doesn’t bother looking away.

“What if they decide to show up again while I’m gone?” Derek folds his arms over his chest, muscles prominent in his shirt. It makes Stiles’ mouth water.

“Then I’ll give you a call.” Stiles mimics him, crossing his own arms over his chest.

“Stiles.” Derek glares at him.

“Derek. Go.” Stiles says sternly. Derek doesn’t move. “Go.” Stiles’ voice raises almost to a shout.

With a sigh, Derek pulls his jacket off the back of the computer chair and starts downstairs. Stiles scoots down further under his sheets. Even when he was a kid, Stiles always wanted the air conditioning on during the summer. He liked the feeling of needing a sweatshirt inside, even if it was ninety degrees outside.

Suddenly, Stiles hears a noise.

Sitting up, he looks around his room. He doesn’t see anything, but he hears one of the stairs creak.

“Derek?” He asks, voice coming out a bit shakier than he would’ve hoped.

No one answers. Suddenly, something strikes him in the back of the head, and he blacks out.

∆

When Stiles wakes up, there’s a throbbing pain in his head and a terrible smell.

He looks around, and realizes he’s bound to a chair. The destroyed furniture around him informs Stiles he’s in the Hale house. Around him are at least a dozen hunters, each holding some kind of firearm. He struggles to get out of the ropes keeping him tied to the chair, but nothing he does helps. He looks at what he's bound in, and is horrified to realize he's hooked up to a machine. Stiles sucks in a breath, heartbeat beginning to beat faster and faster.

“What d’you want?” Stiles asks. His voice is rougher than usual.

“Well, first off, my name’s Tony. There are two ways for us to do this, kid.” The hunter closest to him begins. “We can do this the easy way, where you tell us exactly where Derek Hale is. Or, we can do this the hard way, where we use some rather unorthodox methods to get you to talk. Your pick.”

Stiles cracks his neck, grimacing as the ropes chafe his wrists when he moves. "First of all I don't know where he is, and second, why would I tell a bunch of psychotic hunters where my friend is?"

Tony looks at one of the others and nods. “Do it, Sean.”

The second hunter, Sean, a middle aged guy with brown hair, turns a dial, and then electric currents are running through Stiles' body, so painful he blacks out for a second. When he comes to again, he lets out a groan as Sean turns the dial again. He leaves it low, not low enough to make him black out again, but enough to have him straining in his bonds.

“Where is he?” Tony yells.

“I - don’t - know!” Stiles says, breathing labored.

“Do it again.”

Sean turns the dial again, and Stiles screams once more.

“Are you gonna tell us anything or do we have to actually call him?” Tony asks.

Panting, Stiles looks up. “I don’t know anything!”

“Right. Get him here.” Tony says, nodding at another hunter.

Stiles watches as one of the hunters takes out a cell phone and makes a call.

"Hale. We have something of yours."

The hunter holds the phone towards Stiles, and Sean turns the electricity up all the way, sending excruciating pain through Stiles' whole body. Stiles screams; it's even worse than when they stabbed him. When Sean turns the electricity down, there are spots dancing in Stiles' vision. Stiles knows this kind of torture is made for werewolves, and he’s sure the hunters know he’s human. He also knows that at a certain voltage, a person can’t remove themselves from whatever’s electrocuting them. And he knows that the larger the current, the deeper and more damaging the burns can be, and that if the current flows through his heart muscles, he’s as good as dead. Stiles is hoping the hunters understand that if they go too far, he won’t get better.

The hunters take it easy on him while they wait for Derek. Stiles knows he’s coming, and he knows that nothing he could say would stop him from coming, but still, he doesn’t want Derek to get hurt.

Derek shows up to the Hale house with Isaac and Scott within ten minutes. Though Sean’s stopped the current, Stiles’ muscles are jumping and twitching.

“It’s so nice to see you, Derek.” Tony says, stepping towards Derek and Isaac. Stiles watches as Derek’s eyes flash red, and he bears his teeth.

“Give us the kid,” Derek’s voice is dripping with anger. “And then we can figure this out.”

“Dunno, he’s fun to play with.” Tony walks a circle around Stiles.

“Hurt him again, and I swear, I’m gonna rip your throat out. With my teeth.” Derek growls.

"That house is on our territory and you know it." Tony spits back.

"Isaac, Scott."

Derek nods, and Scott and Isaac are off. Scott takes out Sean, tackling him away from the dial controlling the current Stiles is hooked up to. Isaac goes for Tony, bringing him to the ground and hitting him mercilessly. Derek comes right for Stiles. Untying his bonds, Derek begins to mumble in Stiles' ear.

"We're gonna get you out of here, it's gonna be okay,"

As soon as Stiles is freed, he struggles to stand up, knees shaking and breathing ragged. Derek goes to wrap an arm around his waist but Stiles shoves him back, into the chair.

"I think you psychotic hunters misunderstood something. The other night, when I stepped in to save Derek, that wasn't a declaration." Stiles says determinedly. "This is. I'm part of this pack, and they're part of me. And I'll defend them until my last. Fucking. Breath."

As Stiles was talking, one of the hunters had crept behind Derek to keep him from defending Stiles. Sean, who must not have been as unconscious as Scott thought he was, comes forward and shoves Stiles to the ground and puts a boot on his left shoulder. He pushes down, and Stiles cries out in pain. Derek starts toward him, but three hunters come at him and hold him back. Isaac and Scott take them out, and Sean slams his foot down. Something pops in Stiles’ shoulder, and he screams. It’s so much worse than the electricity. The last thing he sees before he blacks out is Derek launching himself at Sean - fully shifted and completely terrifying.

Stiles comes to just before Derek and Scott reset his shoulder. He doesn’t realize this, of course. The pain in his shoulder is so intense that he can barely utter a word. He feels dizzy, like he’s about to throw up. Derek, Scott, and Isaac are looming above him, looking concerned. There’s blood on Isaac’s shirt, and Scott’s hoodie has a bullet hole on the left sleeve. Stiles, though weak, is able to process that Derek, Isaac, and Scott must have fought off the hunters. Derek is looking at him intently, and he looks... almost... soft. Stiles groans, the pain in his shoulder hitting him full force again.

“Derek,” He mumbles. “Wha -... It hurts. It -...”

Derek’s hand is warm at the juncture of his neck and jaw, and his eyes are kind and worried. “It’s okay, it’s okay, I’m here. We’re gonna make it better, okay? Just - just hold still.”

Stiles can’t get enough air into his lungs. He can feel his hands shaking, can see spots through his vision. Derek’s hand moves to his left shoulder, and, though gentle, the pain makes Stiles scream again. Scott holds his other shoulder down, Isaac takes his hand, and Stiles finally understands what’s about to happen. Before he can say anything, Derek shoves his shoulder down. The pain is so excruciating that it makes Stiles black out again.

∆

“Hey, kiddo. How’re you feeling?” Mrs. McCall is asking.

Stiles closes his eyes again. It hurts. His shoulder hurts. A lot. In fact, it hurts so bad it makes him see stars.

“I - ow, fuck.” Stiles says, immediately regretting swearing in front of Scott’s mom. “Derek, just get Derek.”

“What, and get him to take away the pain?” Melissa asks quickly.

Stiles lets out a labored breath. "Get him, please,” He breathes.

Time seems to slow down as Stiles waits for Derek to come in. After what seems like forever, Derek pushes the door open and is at Stiles’ side in seconds. He takes Stiles’ hand, and Stiles watches as Derek’s veins run black from the pain he’s absorbing. As the pain fades away, Stiles is able to regain his consciousness. Derek keeps Stiles’ hand in his as Stiles sits up. His left shoulder is strapped into a splint that wraps around his chest, and he’s hooked up to an IV that looks like it’s dripping just water into his veins. Stiles knows it must be medicine, though. So he’s in the hospital for the second time in two weeks. Awesome.

“Hi.” Stiles’ voice comes out in barely a whisper.

Derek glares at him, but it’s not his usual  ‘I hate you and everything about you glare’. It’s more of a ‘You’re an idiot’ glare. “Stiles, what the hell were you thinking? Making some crazy declaration that you’re part of the pack, almost getting yourself killed -”

“Why’d you threaten to kill them if they didn’t let me go?” Stiles bites back.

“Maybe because you’re important to us - to me.” Derek snaps. “Why’d you declare that you’d protect me until you die?”

“Maybe because I care about you, idiot. I’d do the same for Scott and Isaac.” Stiles hisses. “I don’t - if something happened to you at that house - I - it would’ve been my fault.”

“And if something happened to you - which it did, they dislocated your shoulder - it would’ve been mine. And it is my fault.” Derek hangs his head.

Stiles goes quiet. Derek just said he cares about him.

“Are we - are we on the same page here?” Stiles gestures between them with his good arm.

Derek laughs, one of those beautiful, genuine laughs, and surges forward. And then they’re kissing, and it’s warm and real and it’s _happening_ , and Derek’s hand is cupping Stiles’ jaw and his thumb is stroking up and down his cheek and it’s all almost too good to actually be happening. It’s a little hard for him in the splint, but Stiles manages to maneuver his hands into Derek’s hair, tugging lightly at the soft strands. Stiles closes his eyes, and makes a little noise at the back of his throat as Derek bites at his lower lip.

“Is this - is this okay?” Derek presses their foreheads together.

Stiles is panting, and his heart is racing - in the best of ways. “Yeah, yeah - God, yes.”

Derek chuckles. Stiles’ presses their lips together again, sighing.

"This is good. I could get used to this." Stiles nods, hands sliding down Derek's back and wrapping them around his waist.

Derek sits up, listening. "Melissa's saying you can go home."

"Where's my dad?" Stiles asks, taking Derek's hand. He laces their fingers together.

"He's outside, talking to Scott. Scott's telling him."

"Like, telling him? Everything?" Stiles sits up straight.

"How else were we supposed to explain everything?" Derek looks at him.

Stiles shrugs with his good shoulder. "Does this -" Stiles squeezes Derek's hand. "Is this a thing?"

Derek nods, pulls Stiles close. He kisses his temple, burying his nose in Stiles' messy hair. "And we'll have to tell your dad." Derek looks up again. "Right, he's coming. Text me when you get home."

With another lingering kiss, Derek leaves Stiles. The Sheriff comes in a moment later, and pulls Stiles into a tight embrace, then sits in the chair beside his bed.

"Hey, Dad." Stiles gives him a half smile.

"So," His dad looks at him. "Scott's just told me a few things."

Stiles nods. "Yeah..."

"I... I believe it, just... I'm glad you're okay. That's all."

"Dad? Can we go home?" Stiles asks, yawning.

The Sheriff nods, standing. "Yeah. Let's go home."

Melissa unhooks him from the IV, and Stiles' dad gives him boxers, sweatpants, and a T-shirt to put on. With his good arm around Scott's shoulder for support, Stiles makes his way to the cruiser. Scott helps him in, gives him a hug, and leaves him to deal with his dad. On the way home, Stiles continues to receive side looks from his dad.

"Is there anything you need to tell me? Like, are you a werewolf too?" His dad asks as they pull into the driveway.

"No, not that I'm aware of." Stiles says. "Though there is one thing..."

The Sheriff groans. "Tell me."

"Remember when you kinda thought I was dating Derek Hale?"


End file.
